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Friday, 21 December 2018

I know that singing "ding dong merrily" in the carol
refers to the heavenly peal of bells proclaiming the birth of Jesus Christ of
Nazareth.

However it made me think of tonight; Friday the 21st December, the last
Friday before Christmas, the traditional office party and night out on the town
Friday, the Friday of over indulgence, the Friday where things may be
said to the boss that will later be wished unsaid. In short,
the Friday where people may well have a ding dong because they got
too merry.

We call it "Black Eye Friday".

And Black Eye Friday is one of the "days of increased demand" we
plan for in the Devon and Cornwall Police operation, codename
"Op Tinsel".

That's a jolly sounding name for a bunch of planning we do; planning
for all the other stuff that tends to happen
over Christmas and New Year celebrations. I am sure
with a little thought you could list most of the things we plan for; if you
felt so inclined.

And to just give you a flavour of the "Op Tinsel"
shenanigans my colleagues will be dealing with over the festive holidays, here
is my own story of a little incident the last time I worked Black Eye Friday in
amongst the evening and night time economy (or ENTE as we un-euphemistically
call it).

It had just gone midnight and I was single crewed as the ENTE
Inspector wandering around a busy little waterfront district
full of pubs, clubs and restaurants. To my right was a harbour wall
and a bunch of trawlers and leisure craft. To my left were open air
seating areas with gaggles of smokers gathered around the propane gas patio
heaters. I could feel the cobbled streets through my boots. It was
flipping freezing and my scarf had gotten dewy where I had pulled it up to
keep my nose warm and ended up breathing through it.

In my right ear I had been listening to the units
telling "Whisky Victor" how they were heading back to the
station following an arrest, nursing some dangerously drunk individual or
otherwise busy.

It had reached the point where I was trying to figure out if I was the only
copper left in this little corner of tobacco smoke and lager scented paradise
when "she" appeared.

And she was a sight to behold. Taller than me. Older than me - I think.
Wider than me. She was wearing the tiniest of black dress
and very clippy shoes. She was also pretty drunk and obviously
immune to the freezing temperature.

I did the gentlemanly thing and ignored her, hoping she would pass by and
take her entourage of similar looking friends with her. But no such luck.

"I love policemen," I heard her say. Then I looked and knew I was
doomed. She had changed course and was coming straight toward me. She was
sucking her right middle finger in what, I assume, she thought was a seductive
way. Her left hand was making little circular motions over her left chest,
as we say. Again, I can only assume she thought it would inspire me
to some sort of friendly response. It didn't.

To cap it all, literally, when she got close enough she took her finger out
of her mouth, reached over and tried to touch the metal rose on the tip of
my custodian police helmet. That last sentence is not a euphemism either.

I briefly considered arresting her for either a public order offence, common
assault, possible battery if the finger got as far as the rose or some
such. I didn't. Instead I decided to exercise Section 3 of the
Criminal Law Act 1967 in the prevention of the aforementioned
"crimes".

She stepped back very abruptly when I pushed, using an open palm
against her right shoulder and applying only as much force as was necessary,
proportionate and legal in the circumstances to stop her touching my little
metal rose.

As it happened she started to shout, "You can't do that! Who the f***
do you think you are!" and quite a lot of other colourful language.
Then her entourage joined in. Then the smokers, hearing the distressed
ladies shouting about how a policemen was picking on them, started to walk
over.

So what did I do?

Actually I can't remember exactly, but it involved picking the smokers
as the group I should really deal with first. I think I was less than
friendly when I turned to face them, but we quickly built a rapport. They were
actually a bunch of Navy lads who soon worked out what was going on.

By the time I turned back to send the ladies on their way, they too had
left.

And the moral is what?

Is it to make sure you dress up for the weather? Perhaps you shouldn't get
drunk? Maybe trying to put your wet finger on an on duty police officer's
head gear is not actually a good idea? Or even, the police are there to
do a job and try and keep people safe so expecting them to act
as the butt of a drunken joke is unlikely to end well for the joker.

Yours ever

Inspector

PS Please drive safely and as always be kind and honest this
Christmas.

Thursday, 15 November 2018

Yesterday there was an incident at the police station where I work. It was mid morning and a man was overwhelmed by a mental health episode; a noisy and dramatic mental health episode. Sat at my desk I heard muffled screams of, "Help Me!". They had that note of desperation that made me think it was genuine. By the time I got outside I found myself on my lonesome looking at a police car with a smashed passenger door window. I was relieved that there wasn't any blood.
I soon found the source of the commotion just round the corner being restrained by three of my colleagues. He had moments before been having a jolly good go at smashing up the police station, starting out by smashing his head through the police car window. The coppers inside the car had a bit of a shock and got covered in glass. I think one of the coppers was a Special Constable volunteer doing his very first shift with his tutor. I hope he comes back for a second shift. The man then tried to kick in the doors to the police station, again causing a bit of a shock to the one copper and the one member of police staff inside. There was a bit of a tussle and the poor fellow was restrained. Then a slow off the mark Inspector (me) turned up.
No one was seriously hurt and the officers from the damaged police car spent the rest of a long day with this chap going to hospital, the local custody centre and eventually a distant mental health assessment centre.
For the poor guy involved, and those who have not experienced stuff like this very much, it will have been a day that had a significant impact on them and one they will remember for a long time. For others, who have perhaps been coppers for a little longer, it will have been something to chat about over a cuppa and simply another Monday doing The Job.
So much of being a copper is dealing with stuff day in and day out that most people only witness or become involved with on rare occasions. And it is so true that as a copper you really don't know what you will be doing on Monday, Tuesday or any other day of the week.
I recently looked up what "the police" had dealt with in Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly during October. What the coppers here in Cornwall did during the days and nights of the week of October was handle 2,800 crime reports, 477 safeguarding non-crime enquires, 154 missing person reports, 462 road traffic collisions and 7,092 reported incidents. Each one of those numbers represents something really important that has happened to someone. Each one of these numbers represents part of a day's work for the coppers.
That's it really. I just wanted to share that story and let you know "what just happened" in October.
Yours
Inspector
PS. The Special Constable did come back. Good man.
PPS. Please drive safely, be kind and be honest here in Cornwall and wherever you find yourself.

Thursday, 25 October 2018

I have enjoyed many great sunny beach days with my family here: the kids surfing and body boarding, my wife enjoying a cuppa, the dogs impatiently pulling us towards a walk along the coast path.

But sometimes I like to come here on my own. For me it is a "thin place". In the cold, grey winter months, free from distractions and when I can feel the cold wind and spray against my skin it feels as if the spiritual is closer to the physical; the barrier between the two is somehow thinner than other places. I feel closer to my own thoughts, closer to the hidden universe, closer to the souls that have moved on.

Recently I learned that a poet called Laurence Binyon knew this place, Polzeath. I like to think that he also knew it as a thin place.

I am given to believe that on a cliff top overlooking Polzeath beach in 1914 he first started to write "For the Fallen". You may recognize some of it.

Friday, 21 September 2018

I got a letter from America. I thought it was great. It was a thank you letter.
It reminded me of when I was a child and on Boxing Day and the day after my birthday I would be given a note pad, a pen and be told to get on with my thank you letters. One particularly vivid memory comes from when I was about ten years old and my family lived in a small town in Suffolk. I had just finished a letter to my Aunty Joan (everyone my age seems to have had an Aunty Joan) and was proudly showing it off to my father before folding it into the envelope. For a split second he seemed a little confused before his eyebrows rose in understanding. "You will need to re-write this page. She didn't send you an 'apost-lorder', she sent you 'a postal order'." What happened was that when I had opened my card I saw a piece of paper fall out. When my mother picked it up I thought I heard her say, "You've got apost-lorder. I'll swap it for this pound note and change it when I go into town".
There were no such mistakes when I read the letter from America. I should hope not too. It was an open letter from the US Ambassador, Robert "Woody" Johnson, to say thank you for the way in which the visit of the President of the United States of America had been handled. It was published in the Police Federation magazine this month and addressed to all the coppers in the UK. I am still one of those I am happy to say, so the letter was to me too. And I guess he wrote it at the Embassy which is technically US soil, so I am sticking with saying that I got a letter from America.
Two things struck home.
First was that he took the time and effort to write this letter to the rank and file police officers. He didn't need to. The obligatory letter to senior officers probably gets written fairly regularly I am sure. But I don't recall any other ambassadors writing a letter specifically to the officers who worked the shifts. It was generally complementary, which was nice. And it was friendly, which was also nice. But more than that it showed an appreciation of the professionalism, good humour and the extra hours worked by those left back in force to cover the abstractions.
Second was that he chose "Police", the magazine of the Police Federation of England and Wales. It wasn't sent to the big boss to "cascade down to staff". It wasn't posted on some webpage or wall we may or may not stumble across. It was published in the only publication I know of that is distributed to every rank and file officer in England and Wales. I really don't know if it reaches Scotland and Northern Ireland; I really should find out.
Anyway, it was much appreciated and made me think that perhaps my parents did have a point. It is polite to write thank you letters, and people do appreciate them.
yours
Inspector
PS. Please be kind, honest and drive safely.
PPS. The magazine is here. The letter is on page 24.Police -
August and September

Saturday, 28 July 2018

I didn’t watch the video myself, but an officer I respect described it like this.

The vlogger's thirty something year old face filled the centre of the screen. He was a good looking fellow, heavy on the tattoos and light on the piercings. Behind him you could see a good sized bedroom, untidy enough to keep it real but with enough expensive toys to be impressive at the same time.

He introduced himself by explaining his age, gender, weight and general health. He then went on to talk through the time of day, how warm it was, who knew he was making the vlog and when he had last eaten and how much water he had drunk. It sounded almost scientific.

And then he explained what the vlog was about.

“I am going to talk you through how I experience the effects of this dosage of MDMA.”

Before swallowing the pill with a sip of water he leaned forward and held it up to the camera. It looked professionally made.

I really don’t know how long it lasted, but I am told there followed a description of his physical and psychological experiences. They included numbness in his legs, a warming in the belly, a bunch of “nice” emotions and sweating.

At the end of the video, the vlogger gave advice on which website was selling the MDMA at the best price and quality. He then asked people who bought the MDMA to make sure they rated the drug and left feedback on the service the dealer provided. Apparently it is 100% positive.

The officer had been describing to me an “advice video blog” to “help” people make informed decisions about taking drugs.

As you would expect, it wasn’t a video that came top of the search list in a regular search engine (if we still call them search engines). It was on the dark web.

The whole concept of being able to buy illegal goodies in the same way that I look for new toys for my boat (that is online and with loads of guess work) I find terrifying.

I was also told that if anyone just a few kilos lighter than this vlogger took the dose of MDMA it could kill them. In some cases (an increasing number recently) it already has.

Now, I don’t know how to stop this kind of thing. Sure, I and pretty much any copper can put together an operation to sort out the criminal activity. But if I simply say we should “crack down on it” as if that would end illicit drug use I show no more understanding of the problem than King Canute had of tides.

But I do know I want to get the subject talked about more widely. Perhaps someone will start to take an interest in trying to figure out what we should do.

Tuesday, 19 June 2018

This is my
favourite piece of our coastline. It's not the best beach, it's not the
most rugged scenery, it's not the best surf. But it is a piece of
coastline I have swam from, kayaked from, walked along and sailed past for many
years. I love it. But there are things here that can cause you
problems, just like any other stretch of coastline.

I was
pondering this place, and incidents when I have worked with the
Coastguard, Royal Navy and Cornwall Rescue Group when I came across this
on our Force internet page:

﻿

"In
2017 there were 19 coast-related deaths in Cornwall. #CoastSafe aims to ensure that you,
a family member or friend don’t become one of this year’s statistics

Recent
deaths have included:

A father and his two-year-old
daughter died after being swept into the sea in rapidly changing weather
conditions. They had been fishing on rocks at Fistral Beach, Newquay when a
large wave knocked them into the water.

A holidaymaker drowned whilst
trying to rescue his dog at Porthmellon near Mevagissey.

Another man drowned whilst
looking for his dog at Dunderhole Point, Tintagel. It is thought he may have
lost his footing and fallen into the sea.

A swimmer drowned whilst in the
sea at Perranporth Beach.

A man died after getting into
difficulties while swimming off Porthcressa beach on St Mary’s in the Isles of
Scilly.

Three surfers died after getting
trapped in a rip current at Mawgan Porth, near Newquay.

A man lost his life when a scuba
diving trip went wrong at Portholland.

A holidaymaker got caught in a
rip current at Crantock

Two brothers who were fishing off
rocks in the Newquay area got swept into the sea and drowned."

Now that's
pretty grim reading, I know. So what I would recommend as the antidote to
the negative feelings it evokes, is a read of the advice here #CoastSafe . I always feel more positive
if I know I can do something to avoid the bad things in life.

I recon
this really is good advice and the skilled amateurs,
professional athletes, military and emergency service personnel I have
spoken to about stuff like this all seem to say the same thing.

And for
those who are going to be a little more adventurous in your water sports,
as well as making sure you have the right kit, it's worth bearing these four
things in mind too:

Know what the weather is now and
what it will be. Read the weather forecast. I use the Met Office
Mobile Weather app for its Inshore Forecast.

Know what the tides are
doing. The water goes in and out as well as up and down, often much
quicker than we expect and quicker than we can swim. Again I use one
of the free apps on my phone. It's so much easier that the Admiralty Tide
Tables and secondary port calculations I used to do in the Navy.

Tell someone what you are doing,
where you are going and when you should be back. And please don't forget
to tell them when you are back. It saves a concerned call to us or the
coastguard.

Take something with you so you
can call for help. There are some pretty good waterproof options for
mobile phones now, or some cheap(ish) VHF radios if such is your interest.

I promise
you I will be doing all of these things to keep myself and my family safe when
I'm next spending time at the coast or out in my boat.

Well that's
it from me, and I wish you safe, enjoyable and simply great adventures this
summer.

Friday, 25 May 2018

There are a number of things in life that I unexpectedly found unsettling and which made me quite nervous.

One such is helicopters, sometimes known as choppers, whirly birds, petrol pigeons or diesel dodos.

I had quite enjoyed my first helicopter flight, in a beast that looked like the love child of a goldfish bowl and a budget Meccano set. It was Royal Navy helicopter called a "Wasp". That was a fun tour of the countryside around Devon. All I needed to do was blank out the thought that it had only one engine.

I also enjoyed being dunked in the "dunker"; a mock up of a helicopter fuselage that gets dropped into a great big swimming pool and spun round so it's upside down. You get to fiddle with a complicated seat belt, watch some bubbles and find your way out with everything back to front and inverted. All this while wearing overalls and those naff looking plastic helmets that outward bound centres use. It reminded me of the first time I rescued a black rubber brick whilst wearing my pajamas.

However, there then followed a series of less than positive experiences. These included looking for a lost helicopter in a very big sea, (another ship found it and rescued everyone), watching a Lynx helicopter slide gracefully off a ship's flight deck into a pretty lumpy sea and several times feeling very travel sick in the back of helicopters. To my mind, it felt felt like being in the very back of a support group van, with smaller seats, your worldly possessions on your lap, no windows, deafening noise and an overwhelming smell of diesel all the while being driven at high speed round a roller coaster track.

Another thing is that I tend to say something I later regret whenever a helicopter flight is involved. Some minor example are, "That's no problem, of course I will sit wedged in the back here behind all this kit whilst you sit by the only exit - and window", "No, that strap is just fine, not too tight at all", "Why does your navigation system look like an old car Satnav tie wrapped to your instrument panel", "Should that dial really have all those cracks in it?".

My most ill considered comment came halfway through a "ride along" helicopter flight in an American police helicopter. It had been arranged by some kind friends and I was really grateful for the effort they had gone to in arranging the surprise for me. It was in southern California on the second day of a trip to explore the west coast of the US, a part of the world I had never visited but seen on the telly - a lot.

Anyhow, having been told there was no need to wear a bullet proof vest in the helicopter, and had the safety brief from the pilot I guess I was rather unsettled and nervous. However, faced with two very all American hero cops I found my stiff upper lip and off we went. As a true Brit I chatted about the weather and how rainy it was in Cornwall. As a cop I gave as good as I got with the banter.

It all took a turn for the worse when the banter and chat about the weather collided. I had just made some comment about two solid weeks of rain and drizzle at home and said there had not even a sighting of the sun. I think I went on to say how great it must be to get constant sun and live your life with a Hollywood suntan. With a rather abrupt change in tone, the co-pilot said "What do you mean?". I said something along the lines of, "With a tan like yours you would be the envy of every pasty faced Cornishman". His response was, "I'm Spanish".

It was a really quite helicopter ride after that.

Yours Inspector

PS Please drive safely, be kind, be honest.

PPS The one in the photo was the one with cracked dials and the "after market" Satnav.

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

I looked for a picture I could use to open this blog entry. To grab your attention. To draw you into reading it. I found the perfect one. It is a picture of a young person who must be about 13 or 14. They are sitting up straight, with neatly brushed hair, clean and ironed clothes and a cheeky smile on their lips. It looks like a professionally taken photo. Maybe a family portrait or a school photo. I won't use it though.

You see, I was looking for an attention grabbing car smash type picture. I wanted a picture that would encourage us to think about how shocking and wasteful road traffic collisions are. But I came across this picture which had been shared by this young person's family, a family that will never see them again. But I simply can't bring myself to use such a beautiful picture, or any of the others of mangled car wreckage. I will just have to make do with writing about what I want to share with you today.

What I want to share is this. I want to publicly say thank you to a team of police officers and police staff whose work has saved more lives in Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly than any other team I know. They go out there and to do their job every day despite facing criticism, ridicule and anger.

And this team doesn't face ridicule and anger from traumatised victims or drunken idiots. Police everywhere are used to and expect to take abuse like that once in a while. These heroes face it every day and rise above it. The abuse comes from that strangely inclusive group to which many of us belong; motorists.

Thank you to the Devon and Cornwall Safety Camera Partnership. Life savers, every one.

Here I have to also admit that the first thoughts to pass through my mind when I see a fixed speed camera or a white police van with a camera window are usually ill considered and not very charitable. It worried me that I thought like that, especially as I know a couple of people who work in the safety camera partnership and they are really good people. So I asked one of them if they would help me write a short entry in support of what they do. And this is some of what I have learnt.

Driving too fast kills more people on our roads than anything else we do in cars, lorries, vans, buses or on motorcycles.

The fixed cameras and the mobile cameras are where they are for a reason; usually because more than one terrible thing has happened. We also see how fast people are driving and count up the terrible things that happen after the cameras are there. We drive slower and less people die. Those in the know call it "cluster route analysis".

Often the people that live somewhere ask for the safety cameras and like them being there.

Police don't just pick a site and away we go setting up cameras willy-nilly. We talk to lots of other people and decide together where they should go; people like Cornwall Council, Schools, Parish and Town Councils and the Highways Authority.

There are, I am told by a source who has proved reliable in the past, more miles of road in Cornwall than there are in Belgium. I'm not about to get out a measuring wheel to prove the point one way or the other, but I hope it's true.

So that's it apart from to say I hereby pledge not to borrow a few miles per hours from the speed limit just because I am running late or because I can, or consider the speed limit as a target speed in all road conditions. It would be great if you did too.

Yours

Inspector

PS, I hope you enjoyed the read and please be kind to each other, and honest in what you do.

PPS, It kicked me right in the emotionals when I saw the picture of that young person. My thoughts and prayers are with their family.

Tuesday, 17 April 2018

After I worked my "back to the floor" shift, which I wrote about last time, I started to find my thoughts drifting back to the family my colleague and I visited. I wonder if, and hope that they are safe and well.

But I am not the Officer in the Case (OIC) for the crime. I do not work in the Multi Agency Referral Unit (MARU) and I am not a Safeguarding Officer (we just say Safeguarding Officer), so I won't be told and I won't go looking things up to check how they are getting on. That would be a bad thing to do.

So for this particular job, as with so many other jobs we go to in The Job, there is the potential for unnecessary thoughts and worry.

Until my "wobble" (another thing I wrote about!) I thought I was one of those blokes who was immune to nasty events, who easily blocked out unwanted thoughts when they popped into my head and who simply decided not to worry about stuff. In the end I did not so much admit to myself the reality, as was ambushed by it. The reality was, and remains that I am not one of those blokes. I am not immune, can not stop unwanted thoughts and I do worry.

I also realised that it would be good for me to actually do something about the thoughts and worries that I know I will come after some jobs. And it turns out that some of the stuff that would have been good for me to do, I had been avoiding. I guess it was a mixture of misplaced machismo and distrust of everything I considered a bit "hippy".

Now I am learning how to do that stuff. I know it by the name "Wellness".

It was after the recovery counselling and therapies I went through that our outstandingly good Force Medical Officer (FMO), "The Prof" suggested I might like to give it a go.

It would be wrong for me to try and describe the theories and practices I am trying to learn. I would not do them justice. Suffice to say I find myself listening to my own breathing, sensing my own body and accepting my thoughts and emotions from where ever they come.

And it came as a very welcome surprise when my education about this type of stuff was enhanced by a really rather terrific couple I met just a few days ago.

They are a friendly, clever and all round lovely married couple I met whilst on holiday. The bloke is a six foot and a handful of inches tall, 250 pound (I used a calculator work out that is just over seventeen and a half stone) former professional football (the American kind) player and current personal trainer. His other half is a Yoga instructor. I think that makes her a Yogi. She is very professional, incredibly capable and inspiring when leading a class.

If she ever finds herself in Cornwall (the English one) and we can persuade the College of Policing that Happy Baby is a valid "ground position defensive tactic" I reckon she would do a cracking job leading one of our officer safety training sessions.

Now, another thing that struck a chord with me was when the former professional football player is also a personal trainer told me that he chooses to take one his wife's classes each week or so. The class he specifically chooses is one that focuses on breathing and balance. He tells me he calls it his "reset" time.

I really do wonder if I would have avoided my problems if I had made time for my own "reset" time alongside the more traditional exercises I was happy do. There really is something to be said for looking after your mental and emotional health alongside burning calories and working on muscle groups.

Yours

Inspector

PS - please drive safely, be kind and be honest.

PPS - I can't help thinking of Saturday morning cartoons from my childhood when I say Yogi in my head - Yogi, Yogi, Yogi, Yogi.............

PPPS - these guys are from Burlington, Ontario (the Canadian one), so it's a bit far to commute for a weekly class at the moment.

Tuesday, 10 April 2018

It was the thought of learning how to use a new piece of kit that was my final hurdle.

For some time, and especially since the burble of an Airwaves radio no longer sent a tickle of cortisol to my chest I have been planning my way back to the streets. Or more accurately in the case of patrolling rural Cornwall, the streets and dual carriageways, single tracked grass growing country lanes and footpaths.

I had the good fortune to have a "very important meeting" with a colleague I was a Constable with in north Cornwall. She is now the project officer for the new piece of kit I had to get my head round, and I was her local contact or "getting the message out there" for the users of the said piece of kit. After the meeting I got a useful tutorial on the piece of kit, and finally had the confidence to switch from "training mode" to "live mode" and set up my very first "shift". I had become an official user of the Devon and Cornwall MDT, the Mobile Data Terminal.

After a quick check with the duty Sergeants in East Cornwall I joined an experienced, very capable and professional officer for a day shift. And I am grateful to them and their team. Hosting a slightly bruised and terribly out of date "boss" is probably not most coppers idea of an ideal shift.

Anyhow, with rank badges off I joined them for briefing. In terms of numbers of officers working we were pretty well off. Covering one market town, two small coastal towns, a handful of villages and a bucketful of hamlets and farms we had a Sergeant, three patrol Constables, one Neighbourhood Constable and a Police Community Support Officer. And me.

For the first time in the longest time I went through briefing as if I meant it, noting registration numbers and crime numbers, colours and types of vehicles, primary taskings, offender management plans, MISPERS by which I mean missing persons and then recent crimes. My crew mate seemed much more relaxed than me.

The first task of the day was to do some door knocking around an address where a suspect for domestic assault was arrested the night before. The partner did not want to give a statement and the children swore blind they had seen nothing; using almost exactly the same words. So at an hour when people were likely to be awake and actually feel inclined to let a copper into their house to take a statement we went door knocking.

My first customer was a chatty older lady who invited me into her sitting room and spoke over her loud TV to let me know her daughter could tell me all about it. As is the way, I had to piece that together from a list of first names, explanations of friendships and relationships and graphic descriptions of who did what to whom whilst trying to work out what was hearsay and what she had actually seen, which was nothing at all.

We tried again but the victim herself still refused to tell us anything. But my colleague got to have a private word with the kids whilst I talked to the victim. We are doing what we can.

After a statement where I passively shared half a pack of cheap cigarettes, fumbled with my plug in keyboard and MDT I admitted ignorance and sought help from the local Constable to download the statement and get it to the officer from the Sexual Offences and Domestic Abuse Interview Team who was "dealing with" the arrested suspect. He was waiting in his cell. Apart from making grammatical and spelling errors that would embarrass an eleven year old, and referring to my colleague as "my daughter" when talking to the witness I did OK.

Then it was to a "silent 999" we thought came from a remote house, which looked more like a mansion when we arrived. It would have worked well as a location for a hammer house of horrors movie. It turns out the owner was very understanding and the 999 call had actually been dialled in the pocket of a bloke at the Eden Project. That is nowhere near the mansion. Go figure.

After that my crew mate drove us back though lanes not quite wide enough for our car to a roundabout to keep observations for a suspect car that had been on briefing and was circulated on our radio channel. As an advanced driver who has completed some pretty technical courses I trusted her judgement on the right place be to be. And it was. After spotting a car of the right make, model and colour we followed and stopped it only to find an extremely polite older couple who may never before in their life have spoken to the police. I do hope we left them with a positive customer experience.

We parked up again and joked about buses and such, then the actual suspect car drove past. Well that was it. We wiggled around the country lanes to close up on the subject vehicle, no lights or sirens. It took an unnecessary right turn which was pretty much the give away he had seen us. But he hadn't made of yet. So, with traffic light and plenty of places to stop we lit up the blues and twos and indicated for the car to pull over. Guess what happened?

Anyway, after the car had sped off we stopped, switched off the lights, siren and applied the handbrake. Lots of cars came to look for him, and one the Neighbourhood Constable very nearly stopped him until the naughty car pushed the police car out of the way. The tinker.

And so, after checking if anymore paperwork or forms were needed (Electronic PNB entries, Unifi Crimes to update, Storm logs to update, DASH forms, VIST forms, NCRF forms, use of force forms, Section 9 statements, COMPACT tasks to update, Unify UNIFI custody records, UNIFY Enquiry tasks to update or a bunch of stuff I couldn't remember the name of) I was assured by the Sergeant he would sort out anything I'd forgotten.

Gratefully I said my thank yous and went home to walk the dogs.

Next time I try some back to the floor training, I will try and remember how to be a Sergeant.

Yours,

Inspector

PS - there was a crash, someone was assaulted and a thief got away. If only.

Monday, 19 March 2018

I know they are often used to refer to those catchy little ditties we hear on daytime radio shows, and which wiggle their way deep into our consciousness. And I am so sorry if "The Birdie Song" has unexpectedly popped in to your otherwise well ordered thoughts.

However, "ear worm" has a different connotation for me and quite possibly others too. I hear my ear worms on Airwave police radio speakers or the secret service style ear buds that I wedge in my ears. I used to use chunky headsets with cotton covers that made my ear sweat. Not anymore.

I wanted to write about ear worms because this week is the first week for a long time when part of my daily routine will not involve swallowing a bitter tasting Sertraline pill. I was rather concerned that the "not real" voices I used to hear in the dark old days would come back. They haven't.

And the mere sound of chatter on an Airwave police radio that had started to make my chest chill with anxiety, well that has returned to an almost comforting noise. It makes me feel part of something, again.

The familiar voices that make the chatter have returned to being my ear worms; ear worms I understand and know how to live with. No matter what I am doing, If I hear Airwaves chatter it touches my ear drum and gets instantaneously conducted to whichever part of my consciousness and unconsciousness that is trying to keep track of where everyone is, what they are doing, what nasties are out there and what I should be doing etc etc etc.

So, I still hear voices, but they are technologically as opposed to psychologically conjured out of thin air. That's good.

And now to say thank you; thank you to a really rather amazing group of people. These are the people who are there with you during every painstakingly dull moment of a long shift, working with you in every rushed and confused journey to an incident when information is flying around like a flock of startled birds, whose spirit is alongside you every time it has well and truly hit the fan and they are working magic to make sure you are not the only one it is flying towards. Some people call them "Gold".

These are the Radio Dispatch Officers(1) and Control Room Staff who spend their shifts in one of the most incredibly high stake, multi screen, non-role playing strategy "games" I have ever seen. And do you know the most amazing thing? Well, actually there are two amazing things. The first is that they sound phenomenally calm and controlled under the inhuman levels of stress. The second is that they keep doing it; keep coming in to work; keep guiding "the blue line" to where it is needed and doing their very best to keep those on the line as safe as they can be.

Yours

Inspector

PS - the snow makes the little winding lanes even more slippery, and also makes it even more important to look after each other and each other's property.

(1) - the computer calls them Resource Deployment Officers, but what does the computer know!

Wednesday, 7 March 2018

I really don't know why I didn't mention these guys earlier. Well,
actually I do know. It's because I didn't realize they were out
there when I wrote the piece from which the paragraph below is an extract.

That is not to say I had never read something about them,
been briefed about them or seen some cunningly crafted awareness raising
materials. After all they have been around since 2010. But if I had, it
hadn't stuck.

Hopefully you will have more luck.

These guys are the "Internet Watch Foundation" or IWF for
those in the know, and they have a logo that reminds me of the telly
programmes Panorama and Joe 90.

The Internet Watch Foundation will do their very best to get rid of
pictures and videos that have ended up on the internet, and which really should
not be there. They will help young people who have had live
streams recorded, shared pictures and sent videos of themselves with their
kit off or getting "explicit". If you, or someone you might know
want to get hold of them, they are here Internet Watch Foundation

.

I didn't know that texting a
naked selfie would end up on the internet forever. This applies to
text messages and all your other tech. If you haven't gone "kit
off" then probably best you don't. Every text, video chat or photo
on any app can be recovered. People will show and share photos and videos,
you know they will. They will still exist on the internet when you find
someone you want to get serious with. They will be there when you go to
university. They will still be there when you apply for..........you
get the message. If you have already gone kit off, you will be fine but
you may want some help if your photos are shared. We can help. Oh and if
you think about sharing, texting or forwarding something to your besties or
mates - that is a criminal offence.

And just so you know, these people also work incredibly hard to bring
down the live streams, the shared pictures and videos of child abuse, often of
the vilest sort. So I'd like to say "thank you" to anyone
who works or volunteers there and happens to read this.